Insecurity

Looking in the clear reflection, I have an

image in my mind. A slim nose, with thin

eyebrows, as if I was a reflection of Bella

Hadid or Taylor Swift. Remove all the

uncomfortably large pores, dark under eye

bags, and bright red acne scars that just

won’t leave me alone. Slim down

the chubby stomach and enlarging the

breasts and the butt, just so I have a chance

at opportunities I wouldn’t have if I looked

like myself. My unchanged, disgusting self.

Crack. The clear reflection shatters. Unable to

look, can’t bear to see my reflection. My

porous nose and hairy eyebrows and pus-filled

pimples. It’s truly and utterly my disgusting

self. And I forever loathe the women I see,

with their waists as slim as a sheet of paper,

and their stomachs as flat as a floor, and

their teeth as white as a cloud, and skin as

clean as filtered tap water. The broken glass

remains shattered, just as I am-- unfixable,

trapped in the shackles of my unchangeable,

disgusting self.